


The Samulet Confessions

by RavensGame



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Samulet, Samulet Confessions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 00:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2249256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavensGame/pseuds/RavensGame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The life and times of the Samulet. The most canon fix-it fic I could write. Originally posted on FFNET.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Weight of Remembering

**Author's Note:**

> HI all! It's RavensGame, and if you read on FFNET, you might recognize my name or this story. Just wanted to come over and play in AO3's sandbox for a while. I love feedback.

Dean Winchester lived a black and white life. Good or Bad. Up or Down. Human or Monster.

Save or Kill.

His whole life was a series of fractured snapshots, of Before and Afters.

Before Azazel, and after his Mother's death.

Before Sam left for Stanford, and after he came back.

Dean didn't deal well with shades of gray, with maybes and uncertainties, with monstrous human beings and all too humane monsters.

So when Dean once told Sam he measured his time in hell by before and after he got off the rack, Sam believed him.

But really, Dean measured time by the Amulet.

**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************  
Dean said no. That's what you have to remember.

For thirty years, Dean said no.

They cut him. They burned him. They wore the faces of everyone he had ever loved. His mother, his father, Lisa, Cassie.

Sam.

But he said no. He said it over and over. Some days he said it so much that by the time they cut him down, bleeding and broken, it was the only thing left he could say.

He would curl up in a ball in the corner of his cell, rocking back and forth, mindlessly still chanting- “no-no-no-no-no' with his hand fisted over his amulet.

And wasn't that a curious thing. Dean had been tortured in every way imaginable. He'd lost limbs, and eyes. He'd been skinned.

And he could name dozens of times that some stolen-faced demon or another had ripped the thing from his neck.

But every morning he would awaken, just as whole and shining as the amulet back around his neck.

He wondered about that often. Was it real? Was it a memory?

Once, when Alistair seemed to be in a particularly chatty mood,he'd asked him about it. Dean was strung up on the rack, wearing nothing but his torn pants and his amulet.

“That thing?” Alistair had asked wryly, one eyebrow lifted in sardonic amusement.

“Humor me?” Dean gasped as blood trickled down his throat.

Indulgently, Alistair stroked Dean's blood and sweat soaked hair. “It's a part of you.” He said sim  
ply.

“I don't understand.” Dean managed, try to focus, to block out the pain.

“Hell strips away your humanity. That's the point. Once you've been here a while, only the strongest parts of you are left. The parts of you that are so intrinsically true to your nature that they stick around once you've forgotten you name, your mothers face, and all the other things you thought were important while you were alive. And then you subtract love, add hate, and BOOM!” Alistair grinned as snapped his fingers. “You have a demon where once you had a human soul.”

“This-” He toyed with the amulet almost lovingly, sliding it back and forth around Dean's bloody neck, “Stubborn little piece of brass represents you, and all the things you're still holding onto. Saving people. Being a Hunter. Being a good soldier, a good son. Little Sammy. All the things you went to hell in the first place for. I do love irony.”

And then he made Dean scream some more.

But he still said no.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Years past like life times and Dean felt old. He felt insane. He felt broke down and worn thin. And he couldn’t remember the color of his mother's hair, or the timbre of his father's voice. He couldn't remember if he'd ever fallen in love, or why he was even in hell in the first place.

But at night, he'd grasp the amulet around his throat, the strangely shaped charm that had hung there for as long as he could remember and sometimes he'd get flashes of memories, of voices-

“Are monsters real?”

“Thanks Sam, I love it!”

“We're just starting to be brothers again.”

“If you hurt my brother, I will KILL you-”

“We're all that's left.”

And he'd hunch down in the corner of his cell, whispering to himself.

“Sam. I have a brother. His name is Sam.”

**************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

And then one day he said yes.

The word slipped out almost unconsciously, with a life and volition of it's own, and he didn't know who was more surprised, himself or his captors.

And then things were moving, moving quickly. In what seemed like just bare seconds he was standing on his own to feet and it felt fucking great, and suddenly, the knife was in his hands and that felt fucking great too.

And the rack was before him, not under him, and some other poor soul was strapped to it, and the fear in their eyes was directed at him-

And he wanted it.

God he wanted it.

“Go on.” His torturers urged, all giggles and gleefully baited breaths.

But when he extended his arm, his hand shook, and chest was burning, he was burning, and-

It was his damn necklace. Burning hot and cold and heavier than it had ever been, and it seemed to scream his long lost brother's name at him and he couldn't take it anymore.

The amulet was the last piece of the man he was.

But he wasn't that man anymore, hadn't been that man for a long, long time.

 And it was heavy.

So he took it off. With an echoing finality he dropped it, cord seeming to trickle through his fingers in obscene slow motion.

He spent the next ten years saying yes. Yes to Alistair. Yes to power and pain and vengeance. Yes to blood and screams and survival.

And he didn't awaken to the burning weight of the amulet anymore.


	2. The Faith of the Fearless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, Chapter two of four.

Sam bided his time.

He waited almost too long.

They were out of options and the words were beginning to echo in his head (Detroit-Detroit-Detroit-Detroit).

So while he sat in Bobby’s living room, staring awkwardly at Cas, desperately casting his mind around for anything to block out the words (Detroit-Detroit-Detroit) it just sorta….slipped out.

"It wasn’t a God Charm". He mumbled into his clasped hands.

Cas quirked his head to one side. "I don’t…understand?" Cas ventured, frowning.

Sam swallowed. (Detroit-Detroit).

He pushed through, his words starting to tumble faster and faster through half numb lips.

"Dean’s amulet. It wasn’t some rare, all all powerful god charm. That’s why Bobby had no idea what you were talking about. I’m the one who gave it to Dean in the first place, but it was Bobby who gave it to me first. I was just a kid, so when Bobby told me it was special, I believed him. But when I got older, I got curious. The thing wasn’t ancient, and it sure as he’ll wasn’t all powerful. Hell, it wasn’t even Christian. It was MAYAN. It was a charm to protect against the effects of alcohol poisoning. Bobby probably got a kick out of it at the time, thinking I was gonna give it to Dad."

He paused, slightly breathless, and stared at Cas expectantly.

"I know." Cas said solemnly.

"Then why the hell’d you lie? You told Dean it was rare, and powerful and that it was going to help you find GOD, Cas and then, then you told him…." Sam couldn’t finish, clasping his now shaking hands (Detroit).

"That it was worthless?" Cas finished for him.

His shoulders slumped. "I should not have said that. I allowed my crisis of faith to affect Dean. It…should not have happened."

"It’s not…I’m not…" Sam sighed.

"I just want to know why that necklace. That’s all."

Cas paused a moment, seeming to search for words.

"You are correct." He began haltingly.

The charm itself was relatively useless. It was what it represented that was rare and powerful. I found a spell, a spell to locate God. But to use it, the spell had to be cast on an object of great faith. The amulet was the strongest I could think of."

"But-Dean has never been a man of faith. Not in God, or angels, or anything that couldn’t shoot salt rounds." Sam stared at the angel incredulously.

Cas frowned. "You misunderstand. It did not have to be faith in God. It could be an object of any kind of faith, as long as it was truly strong. In this case it was the faith of one brother in another.”

Sam laughed.

He laughed so hard he thought he might choke.

He laughed until bitter tears were running down his cheeks.

Cas was looking more than a little alarmed. "Sam?" He questioned tentatively.

Choking down the last of his bitter laughter, Sam said “Did it ever occur to you that your failure to find God had a lot less to do with him not wanting to be found than it did with you choosing the wrong freaking amulet to work your mojo on? Because, in case you didn’t notice, Dean hasn’t had faith in me in a long, long time.”

He started to leave the room when Cas spoke again.

"You misunderstand." Cas repeated. "Dean was the one who wore the amulet. But it was your faith I used. Through all the things that had happened, you still believed. In God, in angels, but mostly…" He paused, looking unsure of his next words.

"What?" Sam’s voice echoed in the now silent room.

"In Dean. You never lost your faith in Dean."

A moment passed.

Another.

Another.

"Okay then." Sam said finally.

"Let’s go to Detroit."


End file.
